


Polish Airspace

by Freebirdflying



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Airplane, Anal Sex, Edging, Established Relationship, M/M, Mile High Club, Rimming, anthea ships it, mystrade, this is the filthiest thing I've written yet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-20 08:59:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16133987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freebirdflying/pseuds/Freebirdflying
Summary: If someone had told Greg Lestrade a year ago that today he'd be being bent over a table on a private jet by a posh bloke in a bespoke suit, he would have just laughed...and yet, here he is, joining the Mile High Club in style.





	Polish Airspace

**Author's Note:**

  * For [egmon73](https://archiveofourown.org/users/egmon73/gifts), [Mice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mice/gifts).



> It's taken me a while to get this one finished up and posted; may have something to do with moving internationally in the middle of writing it. Anyhow, finally getting it up now! I'm dedicating this one to Egmon73 and Mice, who I met in person during the period I was writing it. It was fun to meet fellow Mystraders! Thank you both for your hospitality. And in fandom, when you don't know what to get someone as a thank you gift, try porn, I suppose. :)

Greg couldn’t stop giggling as Mycroft backed him up against the table. “You have got to be kidding, My. We...we can’t possibly…” 

“Oh, I think it is quite within the realm of possibility,” Mycroft smirked down at him. Looking Greg right in the eye, he reached down and let one long finger trail lightly up one side of Greg’s zipper and back down the other side. “Nay, almost a certainty at this point.” 

“But...Anthea…” Greg was a bit breathless with his continued laughter. 

“She has both a fascination with the art of flying as well as an ongoing flirtation with the pilot. She’ll not leave the cockpit unless I request her presence.” 

“Aren’t there cameras?” 

“Yes, but they are not monitored live; the feeds are only pulled if there is an incident. I will have any video footage censored in case of any future review.” Mycroft forestalled Greg’s next response by leaning in for a kiss, which almost immediately turned rather dirty as he coaxed his mouth open to stroke at his tongue until Greg let out a whine and clutched at Mycroft’s hips. 

Pulling back, Mycroft finally allowed his rather dazed boyfriend to speak. 

“And the flight attendant?” 

“I have instructed her that we are not to be disturbed until we approach Heathrow. She took this flight as a favour for a colleague that fell ill; she reported to this flight directly from her previous eight-hour flight, so she’ll be taking the opportunity to sleep.” 

“Well...I’ve never joined the mile-high club, so, if you’re sure…” 

“Oh, I am. Besides, my dear, what better opportunity could we have? It’s rare that I have a meeting abroad deemed significant enough to merit the private jet on which I am able to bring you along, and with the other delegate opting at the last minute to take a commercial flight to join his family on holiday...we would be quite foolish to not take full advantage of the opportunity.” 

“I...I suppose you’re right…” Greg still looked a bit nervous, glancing at the cockpit door, but all his objections left his mind as Mycroft’s fingers, which had been resting somewhere around his trouser button, wandered down to rub his balls quite firmly. 

“I always am.” Greg just rolled his eyes, but snapped them back forward and gasped at a particularly nice tug. “But, my dear, if you truly object, of course I will not insist further…” 

“Oh, god, Mycroft you know I want to. So long as you’re sure we won’t traumatize Anthea or the flight attendant, I will happily...oh. Oh. Oh, please, My….oh, yes…” As soon as Greg started to acquiesce, Mycroft was lowering his zip and reaching into his pants. 

Their mouths met again, their kisses growing more heated as Mycroft stroked Greg’s cock slowly and Greg raised his hands to muss Mycroft’s perfectly neat hair and loosen his collar. 

Pushing him back against the edge of the table again, Mycroft dipped his hand lower, forcing Greg to widen his stance to give him room. 

Greg moaned as his balls were squeezed again, this time without the fabric of his trousers to dull the sensation. The moan turned into another gasp as he jerked, disconnecting their lips, as Mycroft, without warning, pressed up hard behind his balls. 

Mycroft leaned in as Greg clutched at his shoulders and spoke quietly but firmly into his ear. “I’m going to pull your trousers down now. Then I’m going to turn you around and bend you over this table, where I will fuck you all the way across Poland. You will not come until we reach German airspace.” 

Greg froze. He’d been expecting a furtive fumble, just hands in pants or maybe a blowjob (less mess). Besides, despite what most people would imagine (if they bothered to think of it at all), Mycroft rarely behaved as the powerful Iceman behind closed doors. Their love-making was usually a joint effort, with neither acting particularly dominant or submissive. 

But now and then…well. There was the time he had worn his leather jacket in the garage and played the 50’s style bad boy who only wanted one thing, and the time that Mycroft talked him into sitting in a kitchen chair with his hands tied behind his back and ‘tortured’ him until he begged, and the time he...god, yes, he wanted this _right now_. 

With a little moan, he let himself melt against Mycroft. Mycroft withdrew his hand from his pants and reached around to stroke his arse lovingly while holding him close with his other arm, leaving sweet little kisses up and down his neck as Greg let his head loll against Mycroft’s shoulder. 

Mycroft rightly took Greg’s bonelessness as acquiescence. After a few more moments of the petting and neck kisses, he carefully pulled Greg’s trousers and pants down just to mid-thigh and gently turned him around. 

“There....lean forward…” He guided him down, making sure that Greg’s shirt wasn’t rucked up under him uncomfortably, until he was laying across the table. 

Greg did as he was told, almost holding his breath as he waited to be touched. The smooth coolness of the tabletop felt good against his heated cheek as he listened to Mycroft rustling around behind him for what felt like entirely too long. He felt more naked like this, with his trousers pulled down just enough and his shirt tails folded up to be out of the way, than he would have had he actually been fully naked. 

Finally the rustling around stopped and there were a few moments of silence, long enough that he started to raise up to look around before he felt Mycroft’s hands run lightly over the swell of his arse cheeks. He shivered a bit at the light touch. 

“Mmmm….beautiful.” Mycroft gently pulled Greg’s cheeks apart to gaze at his exposed hole. 

Greg let out a breathy giggle. “Don’t think anyone’s ever complimented my arse crack before.” 

“Which is a pity, because I find it a fitting subject to write sonnets about.” 

“Oh, god,” Greg huffed. “Please do, and we can leave them in the sitting room for unwanted houseguests to find.” 

Mycroft responded by pinching the handfuls of arse he had rather sharply. “My dear, what have we said about mentioning my brother while in intimate circumstances?” 

“Oi! Alright, alright…” Greg was still smiling at the thought of the ridiculous sonnet that could be, and he knew that Mycroft was too. “So, are you just going to admire my...nnmmph.” 

Mycroft’s thumb was stroking right over the hole. “Hush now.” 

Greg nodded as well as he could without lifting his head, his attention now focused on Mycroft’s fingers as they rubbed, stroked, and tapped across his hole and his perineum. _He’s just_ playing _with my hole. Oh god…_ His cock hardened a bit more. 

“I’m going to get you wet now.” 

And with this announcement, Greg’s cheeks were spread as wide as they could go, just shy of the point of pain. He bit his lip as he waited, trying not to clench his glutes in anticipation. 

“Fuuuuuu…” he moaned as the first swipe of Mycroft’s tongue laved him from just behind his balls to his sacrum. 

“Ohhhhhh…” Another swipe. 

“Gaaaaahhh…” Another, and he was already nearly incoherent. 

Two more long swipes, and then Mycroft was tonguing his hole hard and fast. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck!” He nearly barked out the expletives with each jab into his hole. 

It was only Mycroft’s forearms pinning his thighs against the edge of the table that kept him from kicking his legs in his need to writhe. His cock was fully hard now, and just at the point that it was almost too much, Mycroft went back to long, slow, soothing swipes while Greg panted. 

The process repeated itself three or four times (even such basic counting was a bit beyond him at the moment) before Mycroft let his cheeks close and stood up. The slight sway as the plane adjusted its heading reminded him of his position--trousers down, the plaything of a posh bloke in a bespoke suit on a private jet. Even knowing it was Mycroft, his loving and respectful boyfriend who he’d been making love with for months, the role he was playing was driving him nearly wild with need. 

After a minute or two to calm down (and also for Mycroft to move around a bit to shake out the stiffness from having crouched for several minutes; they weren’t twenty, after all), he sensed Mycroft standing directly behind him again. 

“Spread your legs.” 

He had let his legs fall together once Mycroft had let him go. He wriggled a bit on the table as he spread them again as best he could with his pants still around his legs. 

“Very good. So perfect, so wet and pink and ready.” Greg felt another swoop of dirty pleasure through his belly at the words. _I’ll laugh tomorrow about being turned on by praise for my arsehole...but god, it’s doing it for me now._

Mycroft’s hands spread his cheeks again. 

Greg lay, panting and dazed and feeling a distinctly odd draft as his wet hole was again exposed to the air. He felt a bead of precum drip from his cock onto the floor; he hoped Mycroft had prepared for cleanup later. 

Moments passed as apparently Mycroft was again just holding his cheeks apart admiring the view, or doing god knows what; Greg didn’t lift himself up to look. 

“My….please…” Greg whined in protest when the hands were removed from his body, but he cut it short and sucked in a breath when he heard a beautiful sound. 

A zipper being lowered. 

“My...My...fuck me, please, My…,” he mumbled before he heard the welcome sound of a lube bottle being opened and the squelch of it being spread down a hard cock. 

“I will take care of you, Gregory. Can you be patient just a moment longer?” 

“Please…” 

“Your arousal must be nearly painful. Allow me to take the edge off for you, dear. Not too much, though, as you will not be able to come for some time yet.” 

Greg moaned as Mycroft edged him off the table just a bit so that he could comfortably reach his arms around his waist. 

“FUCK!” Greg’s hands scrambled for a hold on the smooth table, finally gripping the edges, as Mycroft made a long, slow, hard squeeze up Greg’s cock with his hand. 

He was left to pant and grasp for a moment before Mycroft started at the base with another slow, hard grip, milking out another drop of precum. 

Greg’s hips twitched with the desire to fuck into something. Another long, slow squeeze all the way up. He moaned, long and loud. 

“Gregory, do you need something to bite down on to keep from screaming while I’m fucking you?” 

_Oh god._ While Greg was admittedly quite noisy in bed, it was generally dirty little comments, grunts and moans; he really wasn’t a screamer. But in this situation, in the scenario they’d built, the insinuation that he’d be screaming shortly made his arsehole clench with need. 

He nodded frantically. “My...yes...gonna need something...your cock is gonna make me...ohhh...mmmph.” 

A rolled flannel was held up to his mouth. 

“Open your mouth, dear. There, that’s good...bite down….good.” 

“Mmmmm…” 

“I know, Gregory, I know you need it very badly. I’m going to position you now.” Mycroft helped him scoot back up on the table from where he’d pulled him back to stroke his cock. His weight was fully supported; the edge of the table hit just above his cock, leaving it to hang free. 

“Hold on tightly to the sides of the table.” 

Greg scrambled to obey and had just managed to get a grip when lube dripped down his crack. He squirmed as Mycroft slid in two fingers, spreading his hole open enough to squeeze a generous amount of lube directly inside. The foreign coolness of it made him clench down. 

“That’s it...keep the lube inside, get it warm and ready for me…” Mycroft ( _the dirty bastard,_ Greg thought with the few brain cells that hadn’t shut down yet) interpreted out loud. 

“I’m going to fuck you now. Open...yes, relax so I can fill you…” Mycroft stroked a thumb over the now-very-slick hole. 

_Oh god oh god oh god._ Greg spread his legs, still restrained by the trousers that had now slipped down to just above his knees, as far as he could and focused on relaxing his muscles to allow the coming intrusion. 

The anticipation was such that he was actually grateful for the flannel in his mouth when he felt the push from the head of Mycroft’s cock. “FuummmmmmMMMH!” 

The burn, the stretch...he bore down obediently as Mycroft pushed maddeningly slowly but without stopping until he was completely filled. He unclenched his teeth from the flannel to pant for a moment. 

“You’re taking me so well...you’re stretching beautifully around me....” Mycroft ran his hands over Greg’s back and hips in soothing swirls. “Hold tight now.” 

Greg barely had enough time to get the flannel back in a firm grip between his teeth. “MMMMUH!” A breath or two of relief before the slow side of his lover’s cock pulling out. “MMMPH.” 

Again and again and again. God, he really might scream. 

Slow slippery slide out, hard fast thrust in. 

Again. Again. 

But not hitting his prostate, not directly, at least. He finally dropped the flannel from his mouth to babble. 

“My, please, oh, god, Mycroooooft...please…” 

Mycroft paused his thrusting to answer. “I know, dear, I know you need it...but you can’t come until we’re out of Polish airspace, so you’ll need to be patient.” 

The slow teasing fucking that wasn’t quite enough went on and on, alternating with long, slow pulls on his cock as his hole fluttered desperately around nothing when Mycroft would periodically pull out to torture him (although, reliving the moment in his mind later when he was capable of thinking clearly, he realized that it was just as much so Mycroft could calm down a bit to keep it going.).

Several times Greg thought he couldn’t help but come while his cock was being stroked, but Mycroft was watching for the signs “Gregory...focus now. Do not come. I will let you know when the time is right, but for now you need to resist,” he would say softly and encouragingly. “I know you can do it for me. Do you need me to pull your testicles down?” 

The first couple of times Greg just gritted his teeth and shook his head no. He was still in enough control, he could will himself to hold on. He would make Mycroft proud of him; he would be obedient. 

By the third time, he was frantically nodding yes with tears in his eyes. _Oh god oh god ohgodohgodohgod…._

By the fourth time he was babbling, and even with Mycroft holding his balls to keep them from drawing up he might not have held it together if it wasn’t for the slight distraction of the plane banking slowly to the north. He clenched the table edges even harder in his sweaty fingers. 

“Gregory. Gregory, can you understand me?” Greg was by now so focused on his pleasure and his struggle not to come that it took him a moment to respond by nodding slowly. “I am now pulling your trousers down past your knees so you can spread your legs a little wider.” 

_Finally, finally…_

Greg panted as he felt Mycroft’s hands on his thighs, first pushing down the fabric and then pulling his thighs just the little bit further apart that the trousers now allowed.

“I’m going to fill you now. I need you to hold on very tightly.”

Greg’s fuzzy brain barely processed this in time to adjust his grip before Mycroft took his hips in a firm grip and pulled him an inch two off the table so that he could fuck him at a slightly different angle. 

The strokes this time were hard, fast, and directly against his prostate. 

“Fuck….fuck...fuck….fuckfuckfuckfuckFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK. OH GOD, Myc! FUCK! FUCK!” Greg was shouting with every direct hit, but his words quickly devolved into shouted syllables. “FU...FU...AH AH AH AH AH.” 

If only he could come from prostate stimulation alone...they’d experimented on several occasions, but no matter how unbearably good, he just couldn’t finish without some friction on his cock, even if it were only a few strokes, and Mycroft knew this fact well. 

The pleasure was nearly unbearable and he was desperate to come, but his cock was bobbing in the air under the table. Without thinking, he let go of the table with his right hand and squirmed, trying to figure out a way to touch himself. 

“Gregory!” Mycroft bent low over him, draping himself over his back so that he could reach to grab his wrists and pin them. In the headspace Greg was in at this point, the feeling of restraint was perfect and his shouting intensified. “Flannel back in your mouth... _now_ ,” Mycroft continued, rather breathlessly.

He hadn’t thought it was possible for Mycroft to fuck him any harder or faster than he already was, but somehow he did. Greg felt like his testicles were going to explode as he scrambled to grasp it with his teeth and bite down, just in time.

Greg was screaming, muffled though it was by that blessed flannel, as hot cum filled him. His now sweaty hands were sliding as he tried to maintain his grip on the table. 

“My, please, oh, I need...oh, fuck, oh…” 

“I know, I know….you’re doing so well. Only three more minutes until we reach German airspace. Can you hold on just a little bit longer?” 

Greg was nearly out of his mind by now but nodded dumbly. He could do it, he could hold on if that was what Mycroft was asking of him. He didn’t dare loosen his grip on the table, knowing that if he did he wouldn’t be able to resist.

Mycroft ran his hands soothingly over his back and arse cheeks and started speaking.

“Let me tell you about the lovely sight I have...your hole is so nicely stretched and red, and you’ve done well at not letting my cum drip out.”

Greg clinched his hole in response; if it made his love happy that he keep it all inside him, he would do his best. 

“That’s it...you’re doing so well…” 

Greg meant to say something about how happy he was to please him, but he was distracted by the throb of his balls, by now pulled up so tight that they were bordering on painful, it was more begging that came out. 

“My...My…please touch me. Oh, god, I can’t...I can’t….please…” 

“Oh, love, I know, I know. I do apologize; the waiting must be excruciating, but you’ve been so patient, so perfect...let me give you something to focus on.” 

“Fuuu…!” Just the tip of a finger, right in the slowly tightening pucker, not pressing in, just there. His hole fluttered around it. 

“Open for me.” 

Greg unclinched and felt a drop of Mycroft’s come tickle as it dripped down his perineum. Mycroft pressed his finger in just the slightest bit, not even to the first knuckle. 

“Tighten your sphincter around my finger.” 

_Oh god oh god why can’t the posh bastard just say squeeze like anyone else oh god oh god need it inside need to be filled again need fuck oh need please..._

Greg did his best to squeeze, and apparently, his effort was acceptable, because Mycroft rewarded him by lightly stroking his perineum with his thumb, never quite touching his aching balls. 

“Now release.” 

Greg let out a long, slow moan into the flannel as he tried to fight his instincts to relax again. 

“Only one minute, thirty seconds until we reach German airspace. Tighten again.” 

Greg’s overused hole grasped greedily at the tiny bit of finger it was given, trying desperately to pull it further in with no success. 

“One minute, ten seconds...release.” 

Greg was moaning nearly continuously now. That had been the longest twenty seconds of his life. As he struggled to relax, Mycroft brought his other hand to gently smooth down the little lube-soaked hairs that surrounded his aching hole. 

“Tighten.” 

Mycroft gave him minutely more of his finger to squeeze around, which Greg did as hard as he could manage, panting and pushing up off the table so that he could arch his back. 

“Forty-five second...you’re almost there, my dear.” 

Mycroft made a slow twist of his finger that had Greg’s knuckles white as he squeezed the edge of the table. 

“My...ohhhhhh….My….” Greg forced himself to relax back down towards the table. 

“Thirty seconds. I’m going to prepare for you to come now.” 

While leaving the finger just tapping at the edge of his hole, Mycroft produced a small towel from somewhere and bent to spread it on the floor under the table with his free arm. 

“Ten seconds, my dear. I’m going to put my fingers in you now.” 

Greg was nodding frantically, all but sobbing as he writhed on the table. He screamed into the flannel still clinched in his teeth as two long, thin fingers slid back into his oversensitive hole. 

“Five seconds…” 

The two fingers were being pressed firmly into his prostate. He bucked up, arching his back until he was in a pose reminiscent of the Little Mermaid popping out of the water onto a rock. 

“Gregory, you have taken my cock and my fingers so well.” Mycroft stroked his arse check with the hand not burning him from the inside out. “We’ve just crossed in German airspace. I’m going to make you come now.” 

Greg was screaming even before Mycroft could get his hand around his waist and when his cock was taken in a firm grip he gasped for air before screaming louder. 

One...two…three fast pulls, and he was coming, sobbing, exploding, writhing as pulse after pulse splattered over Mycroft’s fingers and the towel below. 

“That’s it...come for me...fill my hand...that’s exquisite, Gregory.” Mycroft worked him through it, milking his cock until Greg’s screams edged towards oversensitivity from pleasure. 

Mycroft moved his hands back to Greg’s hips and held him, rubbing soothingly with his thumbs as Greg panted. He felt boneless; he couldn’t imagine ever moving again. 

Once his breathing slowed, Mycroft pulled out some pre-moistened wipes ( _that bastard PLANNED to turn me into a pile of mush)_ and cleaned himself off and tucked himself away before starting on Greg. He dabbed gently at his still-red entrance, causing Greg to start a bit. 

“Shhhhh….I do apologize, my dear; I imagine that your posterior may be a bit...tender for the remainder of the trip.” 

Greg had to swallow before he could find his voice. _Did I really just come screaming? God, I love this man._ “Worth it, though.” 

Mycroft just smiled and massaged his bum a bit. “May I assist you off the table and to a more comfortable location in which to recover?” 

“Mmmph.” 

“Come now, after that beautiful orgasm you had, you deserve better than to be left sprawled on a table.” 

“Yessss….” 

Slowly Greg allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, swaying a bit with the motion of the plane. He stood with his trousers now down around his ankles as Mycroft used another wipe to clean his cheeks of the come that had dripped out during the change in position. _God, that should be embarrassing, standing here being cleaned up like a child, but somehow...well, I’m going to have a lot to think about next time Mycroft’s away without me._

“Spread your legs, dear.” 

_Oh god, if I hadn’t just come harder than I have in years…_

Greg obediently shuffled his feet further apart and leaned forward a bit to allow Mycroft to kneel behind him and reach between his legs to clean the sweat from the underside of his balls and his perineum and a final swipe up his crack. 

“I believe you are sufficiently clean until I can bathe you properly once we arrive at home.” And with that, Mycroft gave a quick kiss to each arsecheek and then right on his very tender pucker (well, it would be back to a pucker soon; it was still rather loose and open at the moment), causing Greg to squawk. 

“You’re going to kill me, love.’ 

Mycroft just smirked as he rose to his feet and moved to bin the wipes and pack away the lube, leaving Greg to gather his trousers from around his ankles and cover himself again. He stood for a moment after doing up his zip in a post-coital daze until his love returned to guide him gently towards a pair of reclining seats. 

Greg sat down rather gingerly, watching Mycroft’s face for the slightest sign of amusement. _And there it is...bastard. And yet, a bastard I would very much enjoy travelling with again._

In the absence of the flight attendant, Mycroft served Greg a bottle of water from the minibar fridge himself, and offered a selection of cheeses and grapes. When Greg appeared interested but too lethargic to make a decision, he offered rather better service than the attendant would have been prepared to offer by feeding him the grapes by hand, until Greg kissed his departing fingers and nodded no to more. 

The layout of the seats--individual recliners rather than anything couch-like--precluded proper cuddling, but Mycroft took the recliner next to his and held his hand over the armrest as he drifted off to sleep, sated in every way. 

*****

Mycroft woke Greg shortly before they landed, and he was still rather groggy and rumpled as Mycroft’s hand on the small of his back guided him down the fold-down stairs to the tarmac where a black car was, of course, waiting. 

“Sir, there’s a message from the Minister of Defense requesting a call back as soon as possible.” 

“Thank you. Please, make yourselves comfortable,” Mycroft’s nod encompassed both Greg and Anthea, “I will join you shortly.” 

He stepped away, one finger already poised at the opposite ear if the wind outside the hanger made it difficult to hear. Greg shrugged his shoulders and stretched a bit to ease his stiffness as he motioned for Anthea to go first through the car door, which was being held open, as always, by a stern-looking uniformed driver. 

_God, the mile-high club. Never thought I’d actually scratch that off the bucket list...now, I need to think of something else of the sort to surprise him with. Maybe on a boat? Surely he knows someone with a yacht. Or maybe go with the bit-of-rough angle again...I wonder if he’s ever fooled around in the back seat of a car?_

Lost in his happy day-dreaming, Greg forgot to sit carefully, and winced a bit and then had to wriggle a bit to put himself in a comfortable position. He glanced up to find Anthea staring at him with a raised eyebrow and one of the biggest smirks he’d ever seen on her face. _But then she works with Mycroft, the master; bound to pick up on that skill_. 

“I trust you both had a peaceful flight?” 

_Minx. Of course she has to make sure I know that she knows._

“Oh, yes, quite restful.” 

“I”m glad to hear it. You seem a bit stiff; I was hoping you had not been terribly uncomfortable. And your voice sounds a bit rough; are you coming down with a sore throat?” 

Greg raised two fingers in her general direction, huffed, and closed his eyes as he leaned his head back to be comfortable while waiting on Mycroft. Anthea, who had never enjoyed her job more than over the last few months, just giggled and turned back to her ever-present phone. 

 

 


End file.
